


Style

by bluestoplights



Series: 1989 [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Disabled Character, F/M, Nostalgia, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 08:30:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4384643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluestoplights/pseuds/bluestoplights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate-Universe | Emma comes back to the town she left eleven years ago only slightly worse for wear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Style

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I was originally going to do these in order, but I just felt so inspired to do the Style-inspired oneshot I wasn’t going to fight it. I’ll get to Blank Space eventually, promise! I guess I was trying to go for a nostalgic, high-schooly feel with this as per the atmosphere of the song? I thought this sort of plot would be completely ideal for that even though it’s probably not completely romantic and fluffy as I thought the song was at first, but the more I listen to it the more I see the sad sort of nostalgia. Also, god, this fic really got away from me. 
> 
> I cannot thank Amber (sentbyfools) and Ella (ellasaidlumos) enough for betaing for me. Sentence fragments and shitty comma usage would be unavoidable without them.
> 
> Fallen Empires, I’m coming for you next. I promise.

 

Emma operates best alone.

At least, this is the assumption she’s been left with. If she worked well with others, well, it would have worked out well with others by now. She’s sixteen going on seventeen and things are the same as they’ve always been, more or less. Emma gets assigned to another family, an aging couple that doesn’t mind or care or think about what she’s doing so long as it isn’t interfering with them. It’s not the worst home she’s been in, by any means.

It’s also not really home, but nowhere is, anyway.

She takes a job waitressing at some diner - Granny’s - because she finds she likes having a little extra money in her pocket. It gets her out of the house and saves her from having to make quite so many creative shoplifting schemes. Plus, the matron of the establishment (Granny, as it figured) was nothing but welcoming to Emma.

She practically dotes over her, which feels like the strangest thing after having so much experience with people...not doting on her.

Emma takes on an easy rapport with her granddaughter, Ruby, too. She’s a fiery brunette who spends more time eyeing the particularly attractive patrons (male or female, she isn’t picky) than cleaning tables, but she’s perpetually filled with such an exuberant excitement that Emma can’t help but laugh right along with her sometimes crass jokes.

She’s a good friend to have for someone who hasn’t had the best track record with friends. Part of being a good friend, of course, is getting her into trouble. The good kind, as Ruby would insist.

Ruby nearly whistles while Emma is wiping down a counter and all she can do is roll her eyes and grumble. “What totally smoking hot customer are you going to write your phone number on the bill for this time, Ruby?”

“Oh, no,” Ruby says with a devious grin on her lips. “You’ve got it all wrong, Emma. This one has nothing to do with me.”

Emma can only look at her in confusion.

“You have an admirer at 6 o’clock. Sir Scruffs a Lot,” Ruby tells her in a hushed whisper, eyes glowing with something that can’t be described as anything other than sheer delight.

Emma pivots around to face where her back was just turned, sweeping her eyes over the customers in an effort to see what the hell Ruby was talking about. The only person she can see who would match Ruby’s description of “scruffy” is a guy she goes to school with, but he seems completely engrossed in conversation with the two people in front of him.

“What are you talking about?” Emma asks, puzzled, as she turns around to face Ruby again. “He’s not even looking in my direction.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you turned around a full 180 degrees! I said be subtle.” Ruby tilts her head, exclaiming the words in a fierce whisper as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I swear, I haven’t seen someone with a stick so far up their ass look so into someone before. He was totally staring. By the way, you should probably take their order.”

“Why me?” Emma replies indignantly. “Aren’t you on table duty?”

“I also happen to be on ‘prove myself right’ duty,” Ruby retorts airly, setting a hand on her hip with an air of victory. “I’ll finish cleaning up this table, you take orders from that table.”

Emma sighs with as much exaggeration she can infuse in the action. “Fine.”

“You’ll thank me later,” Ruby sing-songs.

She isn’t the type to back down, anyway. Sure enough, after she takes the table of three’s orders - the guy, his friend, and his friend’s girlfriend - Ruby’s suspicions are confirmed.

“You’re Emma, right?” the guy asks, purposefully trying to look as absentminded as possible. It doesn’t work. “I think you’re in my chemistry class.”

Killian Jones is his name, if she’s remembering it properly.

He’s a bit of an insufferable know it all, insistent on executing the sort of authority she’s sure he doesn’t have when it comes to the smallest, stupidest things in that stupid Irish accent of his. He’s going places, though, with a brother already rising in the ranks of the Navy. He’s sure to follow his brother.

He’s a bit of an asshole, too, if the huffs and giggles she’d overheard in the girls’ bathroom was any indicator. She’d listened to enough of the, _“Killian Jones is so hot but such a fucking holier-than-thou prick”_ running commentary that she got the point.

Emma eavesdrops, sometimes. It’s a bit of a character flaw, but as long as she doesn’t blab she doesn’t think it’s too severe of one. She’d be able to draw the same conclusion from just being in, yes, his chemistry class.

“That’s what it says on my nametag,” Emma deadpans.

“I think you’re in my chemistry class is on your nametag?” Killian echoes and she can tell he thinks he’s hilarious. “That’s quite a detailed nametag, love.”

His friend, David, is cringing so hard Emma is almost worried he’s going to hurt himself.  Mary Margaret looks as if she’s ready to bury her face in her hands.

Good, she’s not the only one who doesn’t think Killian Jones is funny. “I’m surprised you didn’t go for the obvious joke involving chemistry, given the way my friend told me you were staring at me earlier.”

His eyebrows immediately shoot up his face, which begins flushing bright red. David begins laughing so hard Mary Margaret starts thumping his back.

“Fair enough, lass.” Killian manages to get out, face still flushed with the remnants of embarrassment. “I suppose I’ll see you in chemistry.”

Emma rolls her eyes and goes to hand off their orders without another word.

“If I didn’t know any better,” Ruby leans over to Emma when she enters the kitchen. “I’d think that Killian Jones had a thing for you.”

Emma scowls at her friend, “You mean Sir Scruffs A Lot? And, seriously, Ruby?”

Ruby shrugs as if she’s condemning her for commenting on how blue the sky is. “Just stating the obvious, Em.”

“You’re bringing out their food, not me.”

 

-/-

A few weeks pass without incident, other than her catching Killian staring while trying to look as if he isn’t staring at her a few more times in class. When it comes time to rotate lab partners, though, Killian Jones of course takes this as a perfect opportunity and slides into the chair next to her without a word. Emma wishes it were random assignment, honestly, but the teacher thought he was being nice by letting his students pick their own partners.

Mr. Alcarez clearly didn’t factor in the probability of Killian Jones finding a way to annoy the hell out of her into whatever equation he used to justify this decision. Emma glares at the lab table, as if the inanimate object is to blame.

Emma finally turns to face her partner. “You have a crush on me or something, Jones?”

“Something, perhaps,” he fires back easily. “Whatever answer pleases you, really.”

“You don’t talk to me for weeks after failing to hit on me at my place of work and decide the next best course of action is irritating me when I’m holding boiling liquids that could potentially scald your skin off if…” She shrugs as if she’s pondering it. “Accidentally dropped.”  

“That would be bad form, Swan,” he reprimands playfully. “And I think you know I’m not here to irritate you.”

She just shakes her head.

“I notice I don’t see you smile often, Emma Swan.” he observes, ignoring the way Emma rolls her eyes. “I’ve decided to make it my mission to make you smile as often as possible.

“I’m not interested in being your pet project,” she tells him with a scowl. “I’m not interested in being _anybody_ ’s pet project.”

Killian shrugs it off. “Hardly something I was proposing, Swan.”

“We are not friends.”

“If you say so, not-friend,” he retorts with an obnoxious grin on place.

Emma just tells him to shut up and hand her the beaker. He spends the rest of the week imitating their teacher’s endless supply of puns and victoriously grinning whenever he can get so much as a half smile out of her.

It continues like that for a little while, until Killian decides to press his luck.

“You know, my mate David is hosting a bonfire this weekend.” He brings it up conversationally. She can tell he’s trying way too hard to be flippant; if there’s anything this guy knows it’s false confidence. “They’re usually a blast. You should come.”

“Are you asking me out on a date, Jones,” she questions, face scrunching up in distaste.

“No.” He replies quickly, then hesitates. “I suppose, unless you’d like me to.”

She retorts just as quickly. “No.”

“Alright, then,” he says carefully. “Would you, Emma Swan, like to go with me as a friend?”

“We’re not friends.” she reminds him.

“Want to go as not-friends?” he tries, yet again.

“I may show up.” Emma offers casually. “Maybe with a plus one.”

Killian goes pale as he repeats the words. “A...plus one.”

“A plus one,” she confirms.

Her plus one is Ruby, but that’s really beside the point when she can see how many colors she can make his face turn. Killian doesn’t really say much after that.

 

-/-

She shows up at the bonfire, though, with Ruby in tow. David apparently lives on a ranch, so there’s plenty of wide open space for a bonfire to get going. It’s October in Maine and it’s freezing, though, so Emma turns up bundled in a coat, hat, scarf, and gloves as Ruby walks arm and arm with her in nothing but a pair of tight fitting jeans and an off the shoulder sweater.

“Aren’t you freezing?” she asks, playfully elbowing her friend. “It’s like, 30 degrees outside. You’ll freeze.”

Ruby answers without so much as a shiver. “How much do you wanna bet I can get Victor Whale to share his coat with me?”

Emma just groans in response. “I make it a general policy not to bet against you.”

“That being said,” Ruby turns to her friend. “chicks before dicks. If you don’t want me to abandon you for the comfort of the arms of a young, rich, chiseled-”

“Go, Ruby.” Emma laughs, shoving her in the direction of the festivities. “Be free!”

Ruby runs exaggeratedly towards the fire as much as a woman in heels can. Emma has to grin as she watches her friend go.

“The night is so early and we get one of those so early!” an accented voice booms ahead of her. Emma moves her gaze to, sure enough, Killian Jones heading her way.

“You stalking me, Jones?” Emma asks with a raised eyebrow.

“If I recall correctly, I invited you. Remember?” he replies, smiling. “Speaking of, is that your plus one I see in those heels?”

“She’s abandoning me for a wealthier man, I’m afraid.” Emma shrugs, trudging closer to the campfire.

“Have you been drinking?” Killian asks, cocking his head to the side with a grin. “As I have to say, I don’t think I’ve ever seen quite this loosened up before.”

Emma scoffs. “No, have you? You’re hardly one to talk about being uptight, by the way.”

Killian shakes his head grimly. “Drinking is hardly good form, Swan.”

“Case in point.” She nods sagely.

His back straightens a little defensively. “That makes me uptight?”

“No,” Emma answers briskly. “Everything else about your existence makes you uptight.”

“Should I be insulted?”

“Probably.”

He leads her to where the festivities are and, sure enough, there are quite a few people milling about. She recognizes most of them. David and Mary Margaret are huddled at the fire talking to someone Emma thinks is Lance Elliot. Mulan Fa, Aurora Hepburn, Kathryn Midas, and Marian Shepherd are having a lively debate. Belle French and Will Scarlet look as if they’re getting a little too comfortable while Jefferson Hatts looks as if he’s about to strangle Graham Humbert. Ruby and Victor Whale are conversing in assuredly low tones about, likely, their plans for later that evening. Emma notices she’s wrapped around his coat, too, and she has to give the girl props for her hustle if nothing else.

Then, of course, there are people she has never seen before in her life.

“You must be Emma,” a redhead she doesn’t recognize exclaims exuberantly, practically bouncing on her heels. “We’ve heard so much about you. I mean, Killian has been practically, just, totally unable to shut up about you. I mean, I probably shouldn’t say that, but I swear-”

“I think that’s enough, Anna.” A blonde girl with similar features comes up behind the redhead with a wince.

“I don’t even know what there is to say about me.” Emma narrows her eyes at Killian. “What, I glare at you 90% of the time? Hardly a glowing recommendation.”

For someone who acts so holier-than-thou, he is incredibly easy to embarass. “You see, well…”

“I’m just messing with you.” Emma decides with a sigh before she starts to see his face explode. “Though I could definitely keep on going if I wanted to see you turn even redder.”

The blonde quickly interjects before Killian can reply. “I’m Elsa, by the way. This is Anna. We’re David’s cousins and, of course, whenever we’re in town…”

“We celebrate.” David declares jubilantly, appearing behind the two of them. “Welcome, Emma. Glad to see you could make it.”

“Thanks for the invite,” Emma replies courteously. “Sorry if I forgot to bring the marshmallows.”

“We have a stockpile,” Anna reassures her. “Always do. I love any excuse to stuff my face with chocolate, trust me.”

Emma smiles, genuinely. These people are so genuinely nice she can’t help it.

A boy Emma doesn’t recognize appears behind Anna at that, wrapping his arms around her. “Speaking of which, when are we getting those s’mores started?”

“About now,” Elsa declares, holding up a store bought marshmallow stick. “I think Jeff, Will, Victor, and August have done enough drinking to eat now, anyway.”

A male voice lets out an indignant, “Hey!” nearby.

Elsa just rolls her eyes. “Please, as if anybody thinks your water bottles are really full of water.”

“It’s a clear liquid, though, innit?” The same voice, Will, retorts.

“Let me know how well drinking that like water works out for you.” Marian replies with a smirk.

That’s how Emma ends up huddled between Ruby and Killian at a campfire roasting marshmallows with a group of other teenagers. It’s weird that she hasn’t done something this, well, normal teen movie before. Mary Margaret playfully throws a marshmallow at David (who attempts to catch it in his mouth and fails miserably). Mulan and Lance are attempting to start a swordfight with their marshmallow sticks (and end up breaking two).

And, okay, maybe the firelight makes it look less as if Killian is desperately pining for her and more as if he’s got a glimmer in his eyes that makes her feel a tug in her gut she doesn’t want to pin down.

“You’ve got a little…” Killian points to a mouth on the corner of his mouth. “something there.”

Emma swipes blindly at the spot with her thumb in an attempt to get the chocolate off. “Better?”

Killian shakes his head. “Move a little to the right.”

She tries again and it’s still not quite on the spot.

“Here,” he mutters, taking his thumb to the spot himself and softly rubbing it against the corner of her mouth. “All better.”

She releases a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. His eyes hold hers for a moment, but she quickly looks in another direction.

“I suppose your cliche bonfire isn’t complete without...” Kris starts exaggeratedly, once they’ve had their fill of the s’mores. Leaning behind the chair, he produces an acoustic gutair. “one of these bad boys.”

Killian curses at the devious grin Kris is specifically directing at him. Emma has to admit she’s a little curious.

“Where did you even get that from?” David asks, looking at Kris as if he’s lost his mind.

Kris merely shrugs. “You’ll never know.”

“It’s my house and I know that I don’t just leave guitars laying around.” David retorts.

“Direct your energies to a better task, my friend.” Kris instructs, gesturing towards Killian. “Let’s take this opportunity to embarrass the hell out of Killian and make him play guitar for us.”

Killian immediately shakes his head profusely. “No way in hell, mate.”

“Please,” Kris puts on his best pout on his face.

“Do it, Killian!” Victor chants, looking amused at the situation.

“No, no, no.” he repeats

Emma can’t resist, really. “Yeah, _Killian._ Do it.”

Killian seems to consider it for a moment. “Alright. I’ll do it.”

Kris and David grin as if this has gone exactly how they’ve imagined it too. And, to be fair enough, maybe it has. Killian straps the guitar on himself with an exaggerated sigh.

“Play Wonderwall!” Ruby exclaims, as if unable to help herself.

Everyone groans as if on cue.

 

-/-

The night went really well, all things considered. David is nothing but completely welcoming, so it’s easy to get along with the group. Mary Margaret is full of nothing but nice things to say (about everything, honestly). Jefferson, Will, August, and Kris take turns ribbing on Killian who turns various shades of red. Ruby insists on pulling Emma into conversations about everything from how rude Regina Mills is to when they should all go to the new Harry Potter movie.

Emma has never been one for group gatherings, really. Or friends, for that matter. As she’s constantly affirmed to herself, she’s better off solo. There is something really nice, though, about being surrounded by people who seem to want nothing more to do than look out for each other.

The crowd is winding down around midnight when Victor leans over to Ruby to ask her, “Do you want to come home with me after this? My parents are out of town for the weekend.”

Ruby hesitates, looking back to Emma. “I have to give Emma a ride home and I’m not the type of girl to ditch their friends. Maybe after I drop her off?”

Emma winces, feeling guilty for holding her friend back. She’d offer to walk, but her house is a solid 20 minutes away from David’s ranch just by car. Ruby looks as if she’s trying to hide her disappointment and Victor looks understanding.

Still, Emma feels bad.

Killian seems to be able to tell this by her expression. “Let me give you a ride home.”

Emma sighs, thinking about it for a moment and looking back to Ruby who seems completely smitten by Victor’s every move. Then, she nods.

“Ruby, I think I’m just gonna get a ride home with Killian.” Emma tells her friend who looks delighted by the news.

Ruby whispers dramatically in Emma’s ear. “You totally have a thing for him. I see you, Emma.”

Emma rolls her eyes.

Ruby quickly adds another whisper. “Seriously, though, if he tries anything that you aren’t comfortable with - though I seriously doubt he would, because c’mon, it’s Killian Jones - call me and I will kick his ass.”

“Duly noted.” Emma has to grin at this. She appreciates the thought.

She and Killian leave about fifteen minutes later, her phone heavy with the phone numbers of everyone there. They all insisted that they would be impossible for her to get rid of now, especially Anna. It felt good, really, to have people behind her for once.

He drives a pickup truck, because of course he does. Killian even opens the passenger door for her, insisting on being a gentlemen. She shakes her head at the act of chivalry, but says nothing.

“Where to?” Killian asks when he makes it to his side of the car, turning the keys in the ignition. “I take it you live in our sad, boring little town.”

Emma recites her address, then tells him, “I’ve seen sadder.”

Killian grins. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say we were growing on you.”

“You? Like a parasite.” She says the words without any bite and, judging by the way his smile just barely widens, he’s aware of that.

“She doth protest too much.” He clucks his tongue. “Jeff has been giving me hell over my pining, as he calls it.”

Emma tries her best to mask her laugh as a cough. She fails. “You’ve been so subtle, too.”

Killian looks unashamed. “I wasn’t trying to be.”

“Right,” Emma retorts, tilting her head to the side. “That’s why the tips of your ears go all red whenever it gets brought up.”

As if on cue, his ears look a little crimson. She has to laugh.

Killian clears his throat before attempting to change the subject. “Parents expecting you home?”

“Not really parents.” Emma replies as flippantly as possible. “They’re more like people who occasionally receive a paycheck to put clothes on my back. They don’t really care so long as I’m not getting them into trouble.”

His face turns grim and she immediately winces. They just went from one touchy subject right into another. Emma has just word-vomited too much information. It’s okay. She gets it.

“Listen, I-” Emma quickly begins right as he begins to speak. They laugh awkwardly for a moment before Emma acquises. “You go first.”

“I was going to say..” his face slowly turns back to a solemn expression. “I understand that. You’re an orphan, too, then?”

“Too?” she repeats quizzically.

“Aye.” he affirms, absentmindedly kicking a rock with his foot. “It’s been Liam and I for a while, now.”

“Oh.” she responds quietly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

They spend the rest of the ride home in companionable silence. She’s starting to better understand Killian Jones, anyway.  

 

-/-

Ruby drags her out more with the rest of the gang, of course. Jefferson insists that they go shopping and they spend the majority of their time cramped in pretentious hat shops. Will nearly knocks over a stand of stupid ceramic hats and Mary Margaret almost has a heart attack. Lance and Mulan push them all into doing lazer tag and Marian ends up getting the number of some guy - Robin, she thinks his name was - who worked there. Aurora practically forces them to see The Notebook and the ever so politically inclined Kathryn tries her best to drag them to a rally for John Kerry. They all do their best to console Kathryn when Bush wins the election a few days later. Emma insists on educating the group on the cinematic masterpiece that is The Princess Bride, outraged when Killian is the only one who professes to have seen it.

It still feels foreign and strange, being in a group of people that would do anything for each other. David treats her as if she’s the little sister he’s always wanted, Mary Margaret acts the same way, insisting that they’re practically family. Anna is always there with a pep talk and Elsa reminds Emma of herself in so many ways that it stings.  

Killian’s eyes light up whenever he sees her, but then that’s not new. What’s new is that she starts reacting in turn. Emma hears their friends whisper that they’re just dancing around each other, now, but they all seem sure that Killian is willing to wait.

She hopes they’re telling the truth, but of course she won’t say that.

-/-

It’s spring when her foster parents tell her she’s going to be transferred to another home.

Emma walks into the diner in a daze, informing Granny of this as if it’s the natural response to go to your place of employment first to announce the fact you’re being shipped out of a place that you’ve slowly come to see as home. Granny’s face falls and she thinks, yes, she definitely made the right call in waiting to tell them.

She isn’t that lucky, though. Ruby has to overhear her. The brunette nearly drags her with her long, red nails into the kitchen with a curse and a shout and this, Emma thinks, is the reasons she didn’t tell them first.

“You’re leaving?” Ruby asks accusingly.

Emma shrugs helplessly. “It’s not like I’m doing it by choice.”

“But why?”

“They’re giving me up like all the rest of my foster parents have, I guess.” Emma tries to make the words sound as detached as possible. "It's not like I was attached to them, anyway."

“But you were attached to us,” Ruby says the words as if she’s stating a well-known fact, which, to be fair, she is.

Ruby’s scarlet lower lip wobbles. “So there’s nothing we can do?”

Emma just pulls her into a hug and Ruby clings to her for dear life. Emma shakes her head and sighs. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you guys.”

“You’ll come back,” Ruby says, voice wavering and tears staining Emma’s shirt. “You have to come back.”

Of course Ruby would make her cry. Emma just squeezes her tighter.

“You’re going to have to tell him, you know,” Ruby tells her with a squeeze of her hand. “I know you and I know you’d punch yourself in the face before you’d make a production in telling everyone, but the thing between you and Killian is something separate. You’re...something to each other. I don’t think you know how much Killian would tear apart the world looking for you if you just vanished without an explanation.”

Emma presses her eyes shut, nuzzling further into her friend’s shoulder. “I know.”

 

-/-

It’s pouring down rain and Emma meets him on his porch.

“Ah, Swan!” he exclaims the moment he opens the door. “Come inside, love, you look freezing.”

Emma soaking wet and shaking like a leaf (he lives a mile away and she walked here, of all things), but she shakes her head vehemently. “It’ll be a short conversation.”

His face falls. “Please, Swan.”

She remains glued to her spot. If she comes inside, this may just break her heart all the more.

“Fine.” He sighs heavily, shedding his coat.

“What are you doing?”

“Joining you.” Killian says matter-of-factly, as if this is the sort of normal response a man should have in response to a girl showing up to his door in a downpour and refusing to come inside. “There’s no reason why both of us can’t have this conversation outside.”

She almost laughs in spite of herself. Her face quickly reverts back to its conflicted expression, though.

“What’s wrong?” he asks her, so earnest and concerned it hurts.

She has no idea how to explain this. Emma redirects her gaze to the dim glare of the lights of the house next door instead of looking him in the eye. “Killian, I can’t do this.”

Emma may not be looking, but she can see him wilt in her peripheral vision.

“You’re afraid.” he observes, quietly. “Afraid to talk, to reveal yourself. Trust me, Emma, please. I know all the fools in your life have hurt you, but-”

“Don’t.” she lifts her hand up defensively, as if this will prevent him from continuing his train of thought. Emma knows better. She’ll end up hurting him, not the other way around.

“You’re not used to someone caring for you.” Killian fires back, raw and angry. “I get it, Swan, but you’ll have to get used to it.”

“Killian, please,” her breath hitches and she swears to herself she isn’t going to let herself cry. It’s a promise made to be broken. “It’s better like this.”

“Better like what?” he asks, challenging her with everything he has. “Alone? Emma, you don’t have to be alone anymore.”

Emma hates it, hates this, hates feeling like this. She’s weak and vulnerable and leaving and she can’t afford to want to hang on to something she can’t keep. They’ve had everything and nothing for the past few months and she wants every minute. She wants and wants and-

“I love you, Emma,” he blurts out because of course he would do this now. Of course he’d say the words nows. She bites her lip, the tears automatically stinging her eyes.

“I’m leaving,” she tells him, the words dripping out of her mouth like poison. “Onto the next foster home for me. They’re giving me a week to pack.”

Her voice cracks on the last word and she can nearly pinpoint the nanosecond his heart forms a matching fissure.

“Oh,” he mutters, eyes still glued to hers. It’s as if the announcement has taken the air out of his lungs.

Emma grabs his lapel and tugs.

It’s pouring down rain and she kisses him because she doesn’t know what else to do. He pulls her into his arms even tighter and holds her as if it’ll prevent her from leaving him. It won’t. She grasps him back just as tight, all the same.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” she gasps when her mouth leaves his, wishing she means it.

He gapes at her for a moment before shaking himself out of it. “Perhaps you shouldn’t have stopped.”

She stays still for a second, hands still on his shoulders, and wills herself to pretend the wetness on her face is just from the rain. When she slides away, he doesn’t stop her. Emma leaves without looking back, not even doing so when he calls her name. Her arms remain crossed firmly around herself as she walks away from something she’d never had and never would.

Emma doesn’t show up to school the next day. She doesn’t show up the day after that, either.

She runs away from a house that wasn’t home and parents that aren’t hers. Somewhere along the way Emma ends up picking the locks on a yellow Volkswagen on the side of the street in Portland and, well, the rest of that story doesn’t really need telling.

-/-

Emma comes back to Storybrooke one summer about eleven years later. She still has the yellow car, boxes packed in the tiny trunk and ten year old in the backseat. Henry seems to see this as another adventure, and she has to admit she’s grateful she doesn’t have to explain herself when she told him out of the blue that she thinks it’s time for them to move. Emma doesn’t know how the hell she ended up back here again. Well, she knows how, she just doesn’t quite understand why she’d decided to do this to herself.

Maybe it’s for the same reason she spent a year in Tallahassee, but that’s not something she’s really going to analyze.

Emma decides to book a room at Granny’s - which is still, of course, open - until she can find a place of her own. It’s dusk by the time that she gets through the door of the diner, bells chiming behind her.

Granny recognizes her easily as soon as she spots her, “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

Emma has to smile in spite of herself, resting her hands on her son’s shoulders who is looking around at the old diner as if it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. “Long time, no see, Mrs. Lucas. Any chance you’ve got a room open?”

Granny clucks at her, “It’s Granny to you, as you know full well. Who might this young man be?”

“I’m Henry!” he introduces himself chipperly, seeming to have already warmed up to the old woman in front of him.

“You look just like your mother,” Granny comments, rifling through her room keys until she finds one that’s what she’s looking for. Emma is in the middle of paying for the room when she hears a familiar voice exclaiming her name.

Emma whips around to see Ruby - still all red lips and long legs, though now she’s gotten rid of the red streak in her hair - who nearly tackles her into a hug the second she recognizes her, lighting up with glee. “You absolute asshole!”

The words have no bite to them, but Emma has to pinch her all the same. “Watch your language in front of my ten year old, Ruby.”

Emma did manage to get back into contact with Ruby fairly recently, thanks to the miracles of Facebook. She swears she kept the thing for work purposes only, but Ruby tracked her down and friended her all the same. She’s the only person she’s even talked to from Storybrooke in the past decade, including...someone who was definitely a subject for another time.

Ruby releases her immediately, taking one look at her old friend’s son and crouching down on her haunches. “You must be Henry. Don’t repeat what your Aunt Ruby says, kiddo.”

“Aunt Ruby?” Henry repeats in confusion, looking a little - understandably - disoriented at the hurricane that is his mother’s old friend.

“Yes. Aunt Ruby,” she reaffirms, looking up at Emma’s exasperated expression with not even an ounce of shame. Emma lets it pass, knowing it wouldn’t do any good to argue. “Just accept it, kiddo.”

Case in point.

“I may or may not be moving back into this town,” Emma tells her with a rock back on her heels. She feels a little guilty for not telling her ahead of time. The two of them texted each other habitually, so she had plenty of opportunity to. Emma supposes she’s just afraid if she had typed it out, it’d make her stick her heels in the Boston sidewalk and refuse to come back.

“It took you long enough.” Ruby sighs exasperatedly.

They spend the rest of the night catching up, Ruby excitedly detailing all that Emma has missed even long after Henry goes to bed. David and Mary Margaret are married like the cliche high school sweethearts they are. David is the sheriff and Mary Margaret is a schoolteacher. Elsa and Anna have taken over their aunt’s ice cream shop, Mulan and Aurora are living in marital bliss, Regina Mills is mayor (Emma makes a face at this), Kathryn is a big shot attorney, Jefferson owns a hat shop, Lance teaches self-defense classes, and the list goes on like that.

Ruby avoids the topic of Killian Jones completely, which Emma isn’t sure if she’s grateful for or disappointed at. He’d probably gotten the hell out of dodge not long after she did, with all of his grand aspirations.

“I missed you.” Ruby tells her with a final fierce hug that Emma can’t help but return. “You should just, like, stay here forever. We should go out for drinks some night, I’m sure Granny wouldn’t mind watching Henry.”

Emma replies with an _“I missed you, too, Ruby”_ and an insistence that she isn’t much for drinking anymore.

An insistence that wears away within ten minutes of Ruby’s begging. God damn her, really.

-/-

That’s how she ends up in a bar called The Rabbit Hole that she’d only been to a handful of times before in her life, all of which were with Ruby and her seemingly perfect collection of fake I.D.s. The look of the bar hasn’t changed much, and neither has the way Ruby bounces excitedly as she orders shots. Emma just takes a water, thank you, because she still has to drive home and God help her if she came back to tuck Henry in absolutely wasted.

Ruby only pouts over her being no fun for a second, before ushering over a doctor she can’t help but recognize.

“Long time no see, Ems.” he greets her with a handshake. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You too.” She nods along because, at this rate, who in this town wasn’t still here? It’s as if this place is a vortex that no one is able to leave aside from her and - maybe, judging by the way Ruby is avoiding the subject - Killian.

Just as her mind finishes the thought, she hears Ruby groan, staring in the distance at something beyond Emma’s head. “Oh, God…”

Emma furrows her eyebrows. “What?”

Ruby looks as if she’s debating whether or not to tell her and Victor - who she’s certain Ruby must be dating _(still?!)_ even if she hasn’t said so in so many words - winces sympathetically.

Emma whips her head around to see what the hell they’re looking at and her jaw nearly drops. It’s as if she summoned him with her thoughts.

“Is that…” Emma murmurs, barely able to hear her own words.

Ruby bites her lip. “There’s a reason I sort of avoided talking about him in the Where Are They Now segment a few days ago.”

Killian Jones, the guy from high school who refused to drink at parties because of his Good Form, is currently curled up in a booth at a bar after - presumably - having ingested so much alcohol she’s not sure how he’s still conscious. Some things really do change.

Emma’s eyes linger on him for a moment, before quickly looking back to Ruby and Victor who are both looking at her as if she’s about to do something. She isn’t going to interfere. She isn’t. The past is the past and there’s really no point in drudging it up again, especially with someone who hardly looks as if they’re up for a grand catch-up.

Maybe she owes him one, just this once.

“I’ll be right back,” she tells the couple, before she can stop herself. Victor gives her a dubious look, but Ruby’s expression holds a little too much understanding for her to be comfortable with.

“I can get a ride home with Victor.” Ruby tells her, her tone reassuring rather than accusing.

Emma winces. “It’s not like I’m going home with him.”

Ruby shrugs noncommittally. “That’s not what I meant, though. Do whatever you need to do, Em.”

It’s weird how even over ten years later Ruby seems to get it. Emma just gives her a short nod and slides off the stool. She didn’t come back to Storybrooke for this, she swears. She doesn’t even know why she’s come back here of all places. Emma sure as hell doesn’t know why she’s bothering to confront a guy she knew for five minutes in high school.

And yet, here she is. Emma props her hands on top of the table, leaning over , unsure of what to really say or if he’s even going to notice she’s there. “Long time no see.”

Killian looks at her once, then resumes his - fascinating, she’s sure - study of the wood patterns of the table.

“I must be drunk,” he grumbles, his words blending together in one jumbled mess. She has to admit, these are hardly the first words she’s pictured him saying to her after all these years. “If I’m seeing you.”

She raises an eyebrow, choosing not to comment on the latter part of his statement. “Must be drunk, huh? Took you until this point to reach this conclusion.”

“Mm.” He props his head up with one hand, taking a good look at her. He’s retained the facial hair over the years, but his face is sharper, more angular. He’s also wearing a leather jacket that she’s sure Killian Jones in high school wouldn’t touch. “You’ve aged like a fine wine, love. Even more gorgeous than I remember my first love being those, what is it, eleven years ago?”

Emma doesn’t ask what he means by the last statement, though she does stiffen. She should just leave him here, let him take care of himself like she’s sure he must be used to doing. She recognizes a drinker of habit when she sees one.

“Let’s get you home,” Emma huffs, not sure who she’s more irritated with: herself for being such a bleeding heart or Killian for getting himself into this state in the first place. So far, Killian is winning.

“Good luck with that.” he snorts derisively. “I still have a few more drinks in me, love.”

Emma gives him a sour look. “The bartender cut you off, moron. You’re coming with me. Can you stand?”

Killian scowls at her, as if his dirty expression will be enough for her to change her mind. It isn’t. He wobbles, but sure enough finds his footing. She notices something is amiss with his left arm, but chooses not to comment. “My knight in shining armour, you are.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Emma counters, pushing him lightly in the direction of the door. “That is if you even remember this in the morning.”

Emma meets Ruby’s eyes on her way out the door, who only gives her a sad smile in return from the bar.

She really, really doesn’t know what she was thinking. It’s too late to turn back now, though. Killian tumbles in her passenger seat and, well, she guesses she’s taking Killian Jones home tonight.

Isn’t that fitting.

“I thought you joined the navy” is the first real sentence that comes to Emma’s mouth once she starts driving. It’s not the phrase of dreams, but it’s the only thought that she manages to vocalize.

“Dishonorably discharged.” he admits, eyes drooping. “Killed Liam, they did.”

His brother? Who killed his brother? Was it in combat? She has too many questions, but given the state Kilian is in she doesn’t ask. It wouldn’t do much good to ask questions he wouldn’t really be able to answer, anyway.

Emma has to appreciate the irony. He’s the mess now, drunk and sputtering in her car. She’s the one with her shit together. If you told her this ten years ago, she wouldn’t be able to believe it. He was the one constantly on a quest to help her fix herself and now...well, she’s just dropping him off at his apartment. Emma isn’t really in the mood to go about fixing anymore, least of all him. Now he’s only the wasted man in her passenger seat.

“You know, I tried looking you up a couple of years after you left.” Killian begins conversationally, words so slurred she can hardly understand them and hand knotted at the hair at the base of his neck. “A sort of 18th birthday present to myself, I suppose.”

“I was in prison, so I guess it didn’t do you much good,” she says it flatly, as if it doesn’t bother her in the slightest and she didn’t give birth to her son handcuffed to a hospital bed. Emma doesn’t even quite know why she’s bothering to inform him of this, honestly.

He nods with a sad smile, eyes still glazed from all the drinking. “I almost considered visiting you when I heard, but you were in Phoenix and…”

Emma’s grip on the steering wheel tightens and the lights of the cars in front of her start to blur together. She blinks, brushing it aside. “I wouldn’t have wanted to see you, anyway.”

It’s a lie and she’s hoping it’s a good one.

Killian looks as defeated as much as an already wasted out of his mind man can look, so she marks it as a win.

He directs her to a house right off the beach.

“I suppose I’ll be seeing you, eh?” he mutters, more in the direction of the passenger window than at her once she’s parked in his driveway. “That is, if you’re staying in town.”

She shrugs, only letting her gaze fall on him briefly. She answers both questions at once. “I guess so.”

Killian just gives her a meek nod, stumbling out of her small yellow car. His keys jangle in his pocket on his way to his door and he looks back briefly at her. She doesn’t leave until he’s inside the house and stares for too long at the door he disappears through.

It’s crazy, really, how things change. At first when she came back into town, she was shocked to see how much things hadn’t really changed. Now, she thinks they’ve changed far too much. Emma is being nostalgic, she knows, but it’s hard not to be.

He was her _‘almost’_ , her _‘could have been’_ , her _‘in another life'._

Emma shakes her head and leaves the thought in the driveway, backing out to go back to the bed and breakfast.

-/-

She finally finds a place, a nice one. It’s a two bedroom apartment with an airy feel to it and reasonably priced rent. Henry loves it and she spends the next few days unpacking the boxes. Emma is starting to put down roots here, now, and it feels more permanent than any of her other moves. She has no idea what to make of that feeling at the moment.

Emma spots a hiring flyer for Storybrooke’s sheriff station and she can’t help but take it. Maybe her criminal justice background of bailbonds personing would come in handy, so hopefully that’s enough to get her a position. She makes her way to the Sheriff’s office, resume in hand, intent on at least making something of her life here.

The door swings open to reveal an older, slightly more muscular David Nolan. It takes him a minute to recognize her, but he does all the same.

“Emma Swan? How did you- oh, hell. It doesn’t matter,” David exclaims, running to lift her up in a bear hug that she hasn’t received since she’s been in high school. Emma stiffens slightly, unsure of how to approach the situation, until just relenting and hugging him back. He’d always been kind of like a big brother to her in high school.

“I heard you were hiring,” Emma tells him as soon as he sets her down, flashing the 'Help Wanted' flyer in front of him. “I brought my resume.”

“Hired,” David answers without so much as a stutter.

“Seriously?” Emma scrunches up her face in exaggerated distaste. “You’re telling me I typed up this resume for nothing? I’ve been a bailbondsperson for years now, you know, I know how to take in the bad guys.”

“Even better.” David beams, directing her to a desk. “Now we just have to introduce you to the miracles of paperwork.”

“Ooh, enticing,” Emma says with overdramatic gusto. “Does anyone else even work here?”

“Now you see why we were hiring.”

“Is it even a ‘we’ with just the one person?” Emma questions, cocking her head to the side as she slides into what she’s pretty sure is her new desk.

David waves off the technicality easily. “It’s a we, now.”

Emma laughs.

-/-

It’s surprising how easy it is to run into people from the past here, even though it shouldn’t be all things considered. They can’t even go get ice cream without seeing figures from her past. Granted, they’re quite possibly actual rays of sunshine, but figures from her past nonetheless.

Anna and Elsa recognize her in an instant and, really, she shouldn’t be surprised by now. Henry doesn’t even blink at the responses she gets anymore.

Anna runs to embrace her from behind the counter with all the enthusiasm she can infuse in the action and Emma can’t help but smile as she hugs her back.

“God, is everyone still here.” Emma mutters disbelievingly as Anna moves on to hug Henry with just as much gusto. “We ran into Belle at the library, David at the sheriff's station, and now…”

Elsa shrugs before moving to wrap her old friend into her arms. “It’s kind of hard to leave this place, I guess. I mean, look at you. Even you came back.”

Emma considers this for a moment, brow furrowing. “Yeah, I guess I did…”

Henry and Emma leave the shop with two scoops of Rocky Road, respectively.

“You have a lot of friends,” Henry observes with a smile and a part of her aches at the matter-of-fact statement.

Yeah. Maybe she does, here.

It’s not the worst thing in the world.

-/-

She sees Killian again, sober Killian, in the diner on a Saturday because of course she does. Of course it’d be Granny’s again and she’d still feel like she was sixteen and waiting tables and he’d still feel like the cute guy in her chemistry class who pretends like he isn’t staring at her the second she turns around.

Which is almost exactly what happens this time, too.

Emma is minding her own goddamn business, enjoying lunch with her son who is enthusiastically babbling about his new school (Mary Margaret is his teacher, which figures), when her son abruptly stops in the middle of his sentence.

“What?” Emma asks, lifting an eyebrow up in between bites of her grilled cheese. “You were saying?”

Henry motions behind her. “That guy over there was staring at you. Do you know him?”

She turns around with a sense of deja-vu. Sure enough, Killian Jones looks invested in a newspaper in front of him, not seeming to realize that it’s upside down.

“Nope,” she answers, because she’s not doing this again. She had her moment of weakness already when it came to him in this town, she’s not having another one. As much as she hates lying to her son, sometimes it’s best to leave the past in the past. “Not really.”

Henry doesn’t seem as if he quite believes this, but launches back into his story anyway.

It’s not until Killian approaches the table that Emma decides to scrap her previous line of thought. Emma came back to the past of her own volition, she can’t leave it now.

“Emma Swan,” Killian greets with measured caution. She can’t blame him for it, really, especially considering the way his eyes keep darting back to her son. “Fancy seeing you here again.”

“Killian Jones,” she returns the greeting, trying not to completely stare down at her meal instead of at him. Emma fails, a little. “Good to see you, too.”

There’s a stilted silence between them and Henry’s eyes dart between the two of them as if he’s witnessing the world’s most intense ping pong match.

“I thought I ran into you earlier, but I…” he scratches the back of his ear in the motion that feels so familiar it hurts. “I’m afraid I wasn’t quite sure if that was completely real or not, but Dave informs me...well, I saw you here and thought I’d just say hello.”

Some things really didn’t change. “Of course.”

“Who are you?” Henry asks, suddenly.

“An old friend of your mother’s,” Killian answers easily, sitting his hands in his pockets. It’s only then that she recognizes, with a pang, that he’s wearing a prosthetic hand on his left arm. Emma wonders what the hell could have happened. “Who might you be, lad?”

“Henry Swan,” her son answers easily, holding his small hand out for Killian to shake.

Killian does so with a smile. Their interactions seem to come easier than Killian and Emma’s lately, which is a no brainer considering her son absolutely loves people and the last time she saw Killian he nearly puked in her car. “How old might you be, Henry?”

“Ten,” her son states proudly.

He was born almost a year after she left. Killian seems to recognize this, but says nothing. “Strong age, lad.”

Emma opens her mouth, then closes it again. She honestly has no idea what to say.

“I should get going,” Killian says briskly, noticing her discomfort. “I’ll see you around, Swan, Henry.”

Henry seems over the moon about the idea of yet another one of his mother’s friends to hang out with. Emma can only frown into her onion rings.

**  
**  


-/-

“Mary Margaret and I are having a cookout Sunday,” David informs her one day, after they’ve finished chasing some dalmatian away from some old woman’s flowerpots. “You should come. And bring Henry!”

Emma has always been shitty at refusing David’s invitations. That’s how she ends up at the Blanchard-Nolan’s, not for the first time in her life, surrounded by people she used to know. Ruby practically races to hug her the second she’s gets her foot in the door ( _“I saw you yesterday, Ruby.” “It felt like an eternity, Emma!”)_. Graham, who apparently works with Ruby at the local animal shelter now, seems equally pleased to see her ( _“If I knew you were coming, I’d bring over a box of bearclaws.” “You are such a loser, Graham. I missed you too.)"_  She spots the other familiar faces, too. Jefferson and Will look to be battling over who is the better grillmaster, which Kathryn quickly puts them both to rest in. Mulan and Aurora are still just as sickeningly sweet.

Emma sees Killian, too, in a quiet conversation with Mary Margaret. He looks remarkably less worse for wear, not that it’s necessarily a challenge to beat the last two times she’s ran into him.

It feels so easy to get back to how things used to be with them, after spending years of missing them with a fierce longing that she did her best to pretend didn’t exist.

It probably helps that they’re all completely enchanted with her son, too. Henry is insistent on learning how to properly swordfight with marshmallow sticks and Mulan and Lance are all too easy to oblige.

“Can you believe we’re adults now?” Marian groans, flopping down next to Emma on a patio chair. “You must feel like you’ve stepped back into a time machine with all of this.”

“Don’t you have a kid, too?” Emma asks, gesturing to the little boy who is all too happy to use his father as a human jungle gym. “Reminds us of our age.”

“Roland,” Marian says with a small grin on her face. “Yes, I’m feeling the impacts of my age now. It’s a good feeling, though, with kids.”

Emma nods, her gaze turning wistful. Killian, of all people, seems insistent on showing her son ‘proper form’. “Yeah, it is.”

She stumbles into Killian when she goes to refill her drink. Literally, she stumbles into him and gets his shirt completely soaked with lemonade.

“Damn!” Emma curses at the mess she’s made, looking guiltily up at him. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Nothing to worry about, love.” Killian replies with a smile, seemingly completely unconcerned with the fact that lemon juice is nearly an impossible stain to get out of a blue shirt.

Emma’s expression furrows. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve a beautiful woman fretting over my chest, love. What part of that sounds like it’d be an arduous issue for me to handle?”

Emma raises an eyebrow at the comment.

Killian immediately pales. “That was probably not the best thing to come out of my mouth today. What I meant to say, was-”

“You’re fine.” She rolls her eyes. “You didn’t offend my delicate sensibilities. It’s good to see you’ve gotten your sense of humor back since the last few times I’ve seen you, though.”

“I’m afraid you caught me at a bad time,” Killian admits, cringing. “Not my finest moment, I’ll admit.”

“Could have been worse.” Emma shrugs, moving to refill her drink once more. “You could have vomited.”

“That’s true.” He acquiesces with a grin, his eyes holding hers with a familiar softness.  

And it’s easy, for a moment.

“I should go check on Henry and make sure he’s not tearing my boss’ place apart,” Emma mumbles into her drink.

He nods, making no move to leave the kitchen. “Absolutely.”

Emma nearly plows down Mary Margaret on her way out, too, but manages to prevent herself from spilling anything. “Shoot, sorry! I’m running into everyone today.”

“Everyone?” Mary Margaret asks, puzzled.

“Yeah, I completely soaked Killian with your lemonade.” Emma snorts in spite of herself. “He took it like a good sport, though.”

Mary Margaret smiles, but there’s a little something beneath that.

“I think it’s good you’re friends again,” Mary Margaret observes quietly. “We all missed you when you left, but Killian did almost more than anyone.”

The words come to Emma’s lips automatically. “Yeah, friends.”

She doesn’t know why they almost feel wrong to say.

 

-/-

She keeps seeing Killian everywhere, though. He’s at the library, the grocery store, and even passing her on the sidewalk. They stop (he stops and she relents) to talk every time; she tells herself it doesn’t mean anything, really.

-/-

Killian works down by the docks, she finds out. They run into him at the diner again and  Henry asks (begs) if he’ll take him sailing when he hears this. Killian is all too eager to oblige.

Emma tells herself she’s tagging along just to make sure he’s making sure Henry is being safe. It’s not really something she has to worry about, judging by the warmth and softness Killian looks at Henry with when he’s instructing him how to tie knots. Henry is clearly attached to him. Emma wishes she wasn’t, not for the first time in her life.

Killian looks at her with the sort of wistfulness he used to when he thinks she isn’t looking. Emma tells herself she’s not doing the same with him, even though Henry gives them both disbelieving looks when their eyes dart in opposite directions.

“Swan?” Killian calls and Emma stiffens in response to her name being called. “Care to try steering the ship?”

Emma shakes her head immediately. “Trust me, I’m not reall-”

“Do it, mom,” Henry insists enthusiastically.

Killian tells her something about port and starboard but all she can really pay attention to is the way he’s whispering in her ear. She manages to steer for a little bit all the same, though, his hand and prosthetic still ghosting near hers and his body inches from hers. Killian’s body is just barely shaking, she notices idly once they’re 20 minutes into sailing like this. It’s around the same time that she notices her hands aren’t too steady, either.

They make port a few hours later and she turns to face him before she loses the courage to.

“You know,” Emma begins as conversationally as possible. It’s no big deal. It should be no big deal. “I just got cable in my apartment and I hear Sundance is starting a The Princess Bride marathon tonight.”

“Oh.” Killian just exhales. Emma has no idea

“It’s stupid, but it used to kind of be our thing when we were in high school and I just thought that…”

“I’m sure the lad has been educated on the cinematic masterpiece that is The Princess Bride, yes?”

She releases a sigh of relief. “What kind of mother do you take me for?”

-/-

He shows up at 8 o’clock on the dot, microwaved popcorn in hand. Henry seems happy to welcome the guest, still fired up from their trip out on the open waters, and tugs him into the living room insistent on getting to the movie as soon as possible. Killian looks up long enough to grin at Emma for her son’s antics. She can’t help but smile back.

It’s 2 hours later, after the movie rolls its credits and Henry is safely tucked in bed, that they talk. Tucked into opposite ends of her couch, Emma gives him an abridged version of what happened with Neal. The stealing to stay afloat, fencing the watches, the click of handcuffs on her wrists, giving birth to Henry shackled to a hospital bed.

A lot happened, that year.

Killian tells her how they were in the middle of a naval mission when he’d lost his hand and his brother. Liam had gotten false information from one of the higher-ups and paid the price dearly for it. When Killian tried to do something about it, the Navy kicked him out. He came back to Storybrooke in an effort to reclaim who he was, though he professes it to be a constant work in progress.

“And look at us now. We’ve persevered, emotional baggage and all...right back to Storybrooke.”

“I’m hardly the man you left behind, Swan.” he says grimly, holding where his hand used to be up in the air as if it’s proof. “I’m a one handed man with a drinking problem.”

“To be fair, you weren’t really a man when I left, more like a boy.” The joke falls flat, as she was expecting, so she quickly moves on to the next thing she was planning on saying. “And if you think I think any less of you because of those things I’m not sure you ever knew who I was.”

Killian shakes his head fiercely. “I was an idealistic boy who had everything he could ever want when you knew me. Now, I’m just a bitter and angry sodding mess. You saw me that night, the first time you -”

“Killian, I-”

“The funny thing is, out of all the ways I envisioned seeing you again - and trust me, there were plenty of scenarios I had mapped out in my mind - you dragging my wasted arse home wasn’t one of them.”

Emma admits as much. “It was kind of a surprise to see you go from devoutly hating the sight of rum to almost drowning in it the first time I saw you in eleven years.”

“Do you ever wonder,” he starts, hand entangled in his hair. “what it’d be like? If things were different.”

If she didn’t leave. She fills in the gaps well enough.

Emma does her best to make her answer as nonchalant as possible. “Sometimes.”

“Liar,” he rasps lazily, eyes scanning hers searching for something she isn’t sure he’ll even be able to find anymore.

“Sometimes things work out how they’re meant to,” she offers, not believing the words for a minute.

Killian cocks his head to the side. “I never took you for a fatalist, Swan.”

“Maybe I don’t like to explore the what ifs,” Emma challenges. “I’ve always been more for the here and now.”

“You’re here with me now,” Killian whispers and she can feel it on her face. He’s millimeters from her and she rocks back as if she’s been shocked.

“I can’t…” she pants, trying not to notice the way his eyes harden in response - the meaning behind them going from ‘I still feel something for you’ to ‘please don’t go.’ “I can’t take the chance that I’m wrong about you.”

He just nods once and takes his leave as respectfully as possible. She doesn’t ask him to stay.

**  
**  


-/-

**  
**  


Emma isn’t moping at work the next day, no matter how many concerned looks David is casting in her direction.

Her pen runs out of ink in the middle of signing some paperwork on the latest check up of the mayor’s apple orchard. She doesn’t throw it, not really. Just really, really misses the trash can.

David looks back and forth between the pen and Emma. “What did the pen do to you?”

“It let me down,” Emma replies, clucking her tongue in the direction of the offending utensil.

David frowns. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” Emma replies slightly too quickly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

David raises his eyebrows, looking to the thrown object once again.

“Maybe a little stressed,” Emma amends.

“Over Regina’s apples, which I’m pretty sure have to be genetically engineered like everything else in that woman’s life?”

Emma just frowns, contemplating a better answer to that question that doesn’t trace back to topics that she’s definitely not ready to confront yet.

Not that David is going to let her resist confronting them, of course. “Would you like to hear a life lesson?”

Emma groans. “Do I have to?”

He sits across from her, ignoring her protestations. “Too bad. You’re getting one.”

Emma just crosses her arms and does her best not to look petulant.

“I think…” David says, using that inflection in his voice that he seemingly always has prepared for whenever he says something particularly inspirational. “That life is all about enjoying the moments. Good ones, bad ones, all of them. They’re all worth living.”

“And?” Emma adds, expectantly. She has a feeling to what’s coming next.

David exhales. “I think that you wouldn’t forgive yourself if you didn’t pursue more of the good moments.”

“Age has made you wise,” Emma says with a wry smile.

David rolls his eyes playfully. “Just think about it.”

She does. For the rest of the shift until she gets in her car to go home, she thinks about all the chances she has and hasn’t taken. There’s the Neal situation, which ended both with her locked in a jail cell and her having the best thing in her life. There’s moving to this town again and there’s stealing those watches and there’s agreeing to go to that first stupid bonfire.

There’s kissing Killian. There’s not kissing Killian before then. There’s not telling Killian she loved him then and then there’s-

Emma sighs.

Not for the first time, despite what she’s claimed, she wonders what would’ve happened if she stayed here, in this town. Or if she’d come back sooner, rather, considering she doesn’t even want to imagine what her life without Henry would be like. Emma stays like that, for a minute, parked in her car on the side of the street in a downpour.

She decides taking another chance won’t kill her, this time. Emma asks Aurora if she’s okay to watch Henry for another few hours and drives until she gets to her destination.

It’s the same house as before, even. Emma didn’t notice it before, but she realizes it just as she lifts her hand to knock on the door.

Every second she waits for him to answer feels like an hour.

“Swan?” he asks, opening his door in one swift movement. The deja-vu is killing her, honestly. “What are you doing here.”

“It’ll be a short conversation.” Emma tells him, unable to tell if she’s biting back the smile or the tears or both.

The words seem to ring familiar and he freezes for just a moment. He grins. “Then I’ll be joining you.”

And he does, shedding his jacket (leather, this time) in a familiar movement to meet her on his porch.

“You were right, you know. I was afraid.” Emma admits to him, hoping he remembers their goodbye all those years ago as well as she does. By the look on his face, he seems to. “I was afraid to let you in because I just knew one day I’d have to let you go.”

“Swan,” he murmurs, eyes scanning hers. “What are you saying?”

“I’m still afraid. I’m afraid to trust you, to reveal myself, to talk.” She repeats the words that have been ringing in her ears for years. “I think I’m willing to take that leap of faith, though, to let someone...care about me.”

“ _Emma,_ ” he nearly whispers the word, hand coming up to cusp the side of her face. Killian gently, almost worshipfully, presses his forehead to hers.

“I’m staying, if you haven’t figured that out yet,” she tells him. The rain is soaking the both of them through, but neither seem concerned. “And I love you.”

Killian’s reply is simple. “I think we both know I’ve never stopped loving you, Swan.”

Emma can’t help but smile and leans in to kiss him.

**  
**  



End file.
